Ok, so I know it’s the cool thing these days to get pre-marital counseling. At least that’s what every single solitary person in my life (as well as the cashier at Publix) is telling me. “Have you started pre-counseling yet????”, like it’s an underlying public fear that Ryan and I are getting married soley based on his cuteness. (…and he IS so cute!) I’ve asked several of these concerned friends what exactly makes pre-marital counseling so darn non-negotiable. (Note: I’m not against pre-marital counseling, I’m actually for it. I just want to know why everyone gets thrown into a sudden panic about it, like not doing it would cause fire to rain down from heaven and our first child to be a delinquent by age 7.) They all tell me the same thing – it’s to open the lines of communication. People, I was born to communicate. I’ve made Ryan talk about his fears, his finances, his expectations, his past relationships and his favorite brand of macaroni and cheese. And it goes without saying that I’ve been babbling my issues to him since minute one. We’ve covered all the major issues as well as the minor ones. As well as some issues that I made up just so we could keep talking. To me, we’ve been pre-marital counseling each other since our first date when we talked for hours and hours and never got bored. But, getting pre-marital counseling would help our parents and Bell from Publix sleep better at night – so off we go.
Most couples choose to get their pre-wedding wisdom from the pastor who is going to marry them. Sorry…I’m not going to talk about sex with Ryan…WITH MY DAD. Therefore, we needed to find someone else suitable to discuss the “marriage bed” and other such you-have-to-talk-about-this-before-you-get-married-or-else topics. I emailed my pastor, who is cool and 30, to get advice about it. He directed us to Pastor Tom, the staff member that handles the counseling department. Upon hearing this I thought “WHO? Pastor TOM? ANNOYING TOM? Pastor Tom who is loud and tells lame jokes and talks over you so that all you can get out is ‘but I’ and ‘you mean’ or ‘yes but’ and did I mention he’s annoying?” I immediately decided this would not do. However, Ryan Friend-of-All-Nicest-Guy-In-the-World thought it would do us good and set up an appointment.
Did I mention that Annoying Tom is annoying?
Did I mention that Annoying Tom drives me crazy?
Did I mention that Annoying Tom’s wife is a sex therapist?
Did I mention that Annoying Tom and his family were on DR.PHIL a few weeks ago on an episode entitled “weird families”? Tom’s family made it onto the show because they are SO OPEN ABOUT SEX.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Two Freckles
Sometimes I think I could go without food or water - as long as I could look at Ryan Illingworth's face.
A Good Blend
We had (what might become an annual) Easter dinner together this year. And by we, I mean the Harris family and the Illingworth family. The Tarter family was invited, but didn’t come because they all had the flu. I was no so fortunate. My mom, Betty, organized this hoorah so that everyone could hang out. Get to know each other better. Blend. She even threatened to make nametags for everyone. All I could envision was Easter egg shaped nametags with cute nicknames for everyone. Small talk and “you’ll have to give me that recipe” nonsense. It made me anxious. Nervous. Sweaty. And no one wants to attend an Easter Blending Celebration with sweaty pits.
My only job for the dinner was to get ice and drinks, namely sweet tea. Ryan and I stopped at Kroger on our way and NO TEA. We went up and down every aisle. Searched every nook. Every cranny. THERE COULD BE NO BLENDING WITHOUT SWEET TEA. I started to panic, loudly. Ryan thought my body had been overtaken by an alien from Planet Overreact. In fact, that’s what he said. “There’s no need to overreact”. Just because I was shouting WHERE’S THE SWEET TEA and breaking out in hives in aisle 3, doesn’t mean I was overreacting. Maybe he didn’t know what a stress the Easter Blend was for me. Could be that it was stressful for him too, but it’s hard to say since his range of emotion tends to shift wildly from “I can’t tell if he’s asleep or not” to “I think he might have stopped breathing”.
And nothing too terrible happened. Betty only made five or six comments that made my cheeks burn. Betty and Dawn (Ryan's mother) only talked secretively long enough to give me gas – just short of talking long enough to give me a full blown ulcer. My dad only wore my cousin Marsha’s pink Easter bonnet for two minutes. Maybe three. All in all, it was a good blend.
My only job for the dinner was to get ice and drinks, namely sweet tea. Ryan and I stopped at Kroger on our way and NO TEA. We went up and down every aisle. Searched every nook. Every cranny. THERE COULD BE NO BLENDING WITHOUT SWEET TEA. I started to panic, loudly. Ryan thought my body had been overtaken by an alien from Planet Overreact. In fact, that’s what he said. “There’s no need to overreact”. Just because I was shouting WHERE’S THE SWEET TEA and breaking out in hives in aisle 3, doesn’t mean I was overreacting. Maybe he didn’t know what a stress the Easter Blend was for me. Could be that it was stressful for him too, but it’s hard to say since his range of emotion tends to shift wildly from “I can’t tell if he’s asleep or not” to “I think he might have stopped breathing”.
And nothing too terrible happened. Betty only made five or six comments that made my cheeks burn. Betty and Dawn (Ryan's mother) only talked secretively long enough to give me gas – just short of talking long enough to give me a full blown ulcer. My dad only wore my cousin Marsha’s pink Easter bonnet for two minutes. Maybe three. All in all, it was a good blend.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
The Incessant Ache
My head hurts...
It's Tuesday afternoon and my head has been hurting since Friday morning. It hurts.
Take some medicine, you say. I have. It doesn't work.
Go to the doctor, you say. I have. It doesn't work.
Drink some water, you say. I am. And what is it with you people and water. Can't we all just drink Diet Coke and get along?
Get some rest, you say. I try. It hurts to lay my head on the pillow.
Think happy thoughts, you say. Aren't you listening? It hurts to BLINK.
Get some exersize, you say. Are you kidding me? I just said that IT HURTS TO BLINK. Why would I want to do anything more strenuous than that?
Rub your index finger and thumb from one hand in between your index finger and thumb on your other hand - HARD. Well that's just ridiculous. (and I tried it, and it doesn't work)
Maybe you should eat, you say. Hey, any excuse to eat and I'm there. I just ate 26 pretzels and now I have a headache and I feel bloated (what with all the water and the pretzels).
Maybe it's allergies, you say. I'm starting to think that "allergies" is a made-up word used by the medical community to control our minds. I also believe it's an excuse that they use when they just don't know what's wrong with you. "Maybe it's allergies."
My head hurts.
My head hurts.
My head hurts.
My head hurts.
My head hurts.
It's Tuesday afternoon and my head has been hurting since Friday morning. It hurts.
Take some medicine, you say. I have. It doesn't work.
Go to the doctor, you say. I have. It doesn't work.
Drink some water, you say. I am. And what is it with you people and water. Can't we all just drink Diet Coke and get along?
Get some rest, you say. I try. It hurts to lay my head on the pillow.
Think happy thoughts, you say. Aren't you listening? It hurts to BLINK.
Get some exersize, you say. Are you kidding me? I just said that IT HURTS TO BLINK. Why would I want to do anything more strenuous than that?
Rub your index finger and thumb from one hand in between your index finger and thumb on your other hand - HARD. Well that's just ridiculous. (and I tried it, and it doesn't work)
Maybe you should eat, you say. Hey, any excuse to eat and I'm there. I just ate 26 pretzels and now I have a headache and I feel bloated (what with all the water and the pretzels).
Maybe it's allergies, you say. I'm starting to think that "allergies" is a made-up word used by the medical community to control our minds. I also believe it's an excuse that they use when they just don't know what's wrong with you. "Maybe it's allergies."
My head hurts.
My head hurts.
My head hurts.
My head hurts.
My head hurts.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
I Need, I Need
Lately my heart is full and empty. I'd like to quote Josh Bales and his brilliant songwriting for how I'm feeling tonight:
I Need You
by Josh Bales
as performed by The Swift
My heart is restless in me
My wings are all worn out
I'm walking in the wilderness
And I cannot get out
I need you
Oh, I need you
Blessed Savior come
I need you
Oh, I need you
Fill the empty longing of my soul
Oh, how I need you Lord
I need your perfect Word
With tearful eyes to see
The sin that I afford
I need to weep and pray
For all the thousand ways
That I have failed you just today
My bed is soaked with sadness
My sadness has no end
A downward spiral of despair
That I keep falling in
I need you
Oh, I need you
To you my sould shall fly
I need you
Oh, I need you
Yaweh, how I love you more than life
Your silence is like death to me
So won't you hear my desperate plea
Today my soul is soaring
Way over mountains high
Though I can see the valleys
They're all just passing by
It's not that I am stronger
Look at my feeble wings
But I've been lifted higher
Yaweh's lifted me in his own strength
Oh, how I love you Lord
I love your perfect word
With tearful eyes to see
The God who always will endure
Now I will celebrate
For all the thousand ways
That you have shown me grace
And made my heart to stay
You've made my heart in grace to stay
I need you
Oh, I need you
I Need You
by Josh Bales
as performed by The Swift
My heart is restless in me
My wings are all worn out
I'm walking in the wilderness
And I cannot get out
I need you
Oh, I need you
Blessed Savior come
I need you
Oh, I need you
Fill the empty longing of my soul
Oh, how I need you Lord
I need your perfect Word
With tearful eyes to see
The sin that I afford
I need to weep and pray
For all the thousand ways
That I have failed you just today
My bed is soaked with sadness
My sadness has no end
A downward spiral of despair
That I keep falling in
I need you
Oh, I need you
To you my sould shall fly
I need you
Oh, I need you
Yaweh, how I love you more than life
Your silence is like death to me
So won't you hear my desperate plea
Today my soul is soaring
Way over mountains high
Though I can see the valleys
They're all just passing by
It's not that I am stronger
Look at my feeble wings
But I've been lifted higher
Yaweh's lifted me in his own strength
Oh, how I love you Lord
I love your perfect word
With tearful eyes to see
The God who always will endure
Now I will celebrate
For all the thousand ways
That you have shown me grace
And made my heart to stay
You've made my heart in grace to stay
I need you
Oh, I need you
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
What we have here is a little bit of a weight problem......
John and Nivah just spent four glorious days in New York City while I sat in Nashville stewing about not spending four glorious days in New York City. John took Nivah there for their 3 year anniversary. Good man. Their flight left Nashville on Friday morning at 5:30am. Why they chose this flight, I will never know. But here's what happened.
Before boarding, the flight attendants let everyone know that the plane was having some "issues" and they would need some people to volunteer for a later flight - vouchers included. The Eckerts signed right up since later flights and vouchers are what life is truly about, and waited while everyone else boarded the plane. Eventually, the flight attendants changed their mind about the "issue" and informed the Eckerts that indeed, they could board this flight and be on their way. By this time, everyone else had already been on the plane (remember it's 5:30am) and were QUITE ready to get on with it. John and Nivah excused me'd themselves to their seats and settled in. More waiting. Then the pilot came on the intercom and said:
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry for the delay. We're experiencing a bit of a weight problem on this flight and will need to remedy that situation before we can take off. Thank you for your patience." Immdediately the flight attendant came on the intercom and said "Will Mr. and Mrs. Eckert please press your flight attendant call button?" John looked at Nivah. Nivah looked at John. They pressed the button. A 78 year old woman in a flight attendant's uniform approached them, as well as 100 pairs of eyes, and whispered "we're going to need you to de-board the aircraft".
Before boarding, the flight attendants let everyone know that the plane was having some "issues" and they would need some people to volunteer for a later flight - vouchers included. The Eckerts signed right up since later flights and vouchers are what life is truly about, and waited while everyone else boarded the plane. Eventually, the flight attendants changed their mind about the "issue" and informed the Eckerts that indeed, they could board this flight and be on their way. By this time, everyone else had already been on the plane (remember it's 5:30am) and were QUITE ready to get on with it. John and Nivah excused me'd themselves to their seats and settled in. More waiting. Then the pilot came on the intercom and said:
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry for the delay. We're experiencing a bit of a weight problem on this flight and will need to remedy that situation before we can take off. Thank you for your patience." Immdediately the flight attendant came on the intercom and said "Will Mr. and Mrs. Eckert please press your flight attendant call button?" John looked at Nivah. Nivah looked at John. They pressed the button. A 78 year old woman in a flight attendant's uniform approached them, as well as 100 pairs of eyes, and whispered "we're going to need you to de-board the aircraft".
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
My Crack is Getting Bigger
Saturday Ryan and I drove to Chattanooga to meet Baby Bingo on his third day of life outside the womb. (What an interesting feeling that must be.) Once we got into Chattanooga, three seperate people cut me off, veared into my lane, and cut me off again - all in a row. Ryan and I were shouting about stupid Chattanooga drivers and waving our fists in the air right as a Jeep cut us off. We still had our fists mid-air (and mid-anger) when a giant rock flew from the Jeep directly at our angry faces. CRACK! It scared us both. It sounded like the car had split in half - although I was still driving 75 mph down the interstate. Immediately, a small crack formed on the windshield. The further we drove, the further down the crack crept. It felt like we were in slow motion - watching the creeping of the crack. Once we got to Laura's house, we inspected the car for further damage - but all we had was a growing crack. I told Ryan I would call the insurance company on Monday and see if they really are "on my side".
Monday night I got into my car and thought "DANG! I forgot to call Nationwide!" And the crack had gotten bigger.
Tonight I got into my car after work and thought "DANG! I forgot to call Nationwide!" And the crack had gotten bigger. It's slowly making its way across the entire windshield, taking over. Getting worse. During the day, while I'm working, I forget about the crack. I forget that my windshield needs repair. I forget about the giant rock that crashed into us at full speed. I forget until I get into my car and notice that the crack is getting bigger.
Of course, this makes me think about the creeping crack in my relationship with God. I think it did sort of start out as a huge crash that startled me and made me jump with fear. I think I thought "I need to do something about this." And then I forgot. And the crack got bigger. There are many days that have come and gone and I think, "DANG! I forgot to pray!" And the crack gets bigger. There are entire days spent thinking exclusively of myself - and the crack gets bigger. Creeping - slowly. I'm terrified that one day I will wake up and not even realize the chasm between us.
Monday night I got into my car and thought "DANG! I forgot to call Nationwide!" And the crack had gotten bigger.
Tonight I got into my car after work and thought "DANG! I forgot to call Nationwide!" And the crack had gotten bigger. It's slowly making its way across the entire windshield, taking over. Getting worse. During the day, while I'm working, I forget about the crack. I forget that my windshield needs repair. I forget about the giant rock that crashed into us at full speed. I forget until I get into my car and notice that the crack is getting bigger.
Of course, this makes me think about the creeping crack in my relationship with God. I think it did sort of start out as a huge crash that startled me and made me jump with fear. I think I thought "I need to do something about this." And then I forgot. And the crack got bigger. There are many days that have come and gone and I think, "DANG! I forgot to pray!" And the crack gets bigger. There are entire days spent thinking exclusively of myself - and the crack gets bigger. Creeping - slowly. I'm terrified that one day I will wake up and not even realize the chasm between us.
I'm a 10.
Who gets to decide what normal is and is not? Who makes the rules about jeans sizes and the difference between S/M/L? I think maybe the problem is - there's not one person who maintains the reigns on the rampant disproportions in sizing. The other problem is, women tend to identify themselves by their jeans size - at least in our own heads. Instead of thinking "I'm creative" or "I'm funny" or "I can cook a mean lasagna" I often find myself thinking "I'm a 10".
I've worked very hard for the past few years, very hard in fact, to feel good about my size (whatever it happened to be at the moment). To be honest with myself about my body and its good parts and not-so-good parts. It's important to me to feel good in my own skin, whether or not that skin is considered by pop culture to be fat or thin. I don't want my life to be ruled by a constant fear of gaining five pounds or the constant guilt to lose five pounds. Instead, I want to love my fiance and my family and my friends. I want to figure out how to passionately pursue God with my life. I want to be good at what I do, I want to be a better writer. Eventually I want to be a great mom. I don't want the size of my jeans to even be a thought to think - because there are more important things.
So lately I think I've had a great and healthy attitude about my body. I think I've been able to view it honestly - mostly because of my amazing Ryan and his ability to help me see past myself. God gave me great arms and a thin waist. I have a nice nose and pretty eyes. I have nice feet. I have adequate breasts and an ample rear view. My thighs are rounder than I'd like them to be. I have tiny wrists. I'm a 10.
I say all of this, because last night I was humiliated in a way I never have been in my life. And it wasn't anyone's fault. No one was mean, no one laughed at me. AJ and I were asked to be part of a fashion show during GMA. We both thought it would be fun so we said yes, sure, we'll be models (all the while giggling about saying "yes, sure, we'll be models). Last night we went to the fitting at the store sponsoring the event. I walked in wearing size 10 jeans and a size M shirt from The Gap. I left feeling one burrito away from Lane Bryant. AJ and I shared a dressing room, while a guy brought us various things to try on. The first pair of jeans he brought me, I couldn't get past my knees. The second pair was worse. After the fifth pair (and one of the largest sizes the store carried), I started to cry in the dressing room (while wearing an L shirt that was so tight you could see my hair follicles). So I politely excused myself and ran out with Ryan in tow.
Then I cried all night.
I was humiliated and embarrassed. I felt like everyone was whispering, "what are we going to do about the fat girl in dressing room 1?" And maybe they weren't. Maybe they didn't realize what was going on. Maybe the guy who said to me, "don't worry, we'll find something that will fit you" didn't mean to make me feel like a side-show attraction.
And here's the truth. I am not fat. In fact, I am below average. Yes, I could stand to lose a few pounds and I could be in better shape. Yes, there are people out there (and close to me) who think I am fat. Yes, there are people out there (and close to me) who think I'm thin. Yes, in some stores I wear a 10, and in some stores I can't get a size 10 past my knees.
I'm not sure how to end this. I just wanted to write something that says - IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT SIZE YOU WEAR. I have friends who wear enviable sizes but are empty and hollow. I have friends who wear sizes larger than me, that are gorgeous and talented and amazing in every way. I guess I wish there wasn't a stigma to be thin. I wish I truly meant what I said when I wrote "there are more important things".
I've worked very hard for the past few years, very hard in fact, to feel good about my size (whatever it happened to be at the moment). To be honest with myself about my body and its good parts and not-so-good parts. It's important to me to feel good in my own skin, whether or not that skin is considered by pop culture to be fat or thin. I don't want my life to be ruled by a constant fear of gaining five pounds or the constant guilt to lose five pounds. Instead, I want to love my fiance and my family and my friends. I want to figure out how to passionately pursue God with my life. I want to be good at what I do, I want to be a better writer. Eventually I want to be a great mom. I don't want the size of my jeans to even be a thought to think - because there are more important things.
So lately I think I've had a great and healthy attitude about my body. I think I've been able to view it honestly - mostly because of my amazing Ryan and his ability to help me see past myself. God gave me great arms and a thin waist. I have a nice nose and pretty eyes. I have nice feet. I have adequate breasts and an ample rear view. My thighs are rounder than I'd like them to be. I have tiny wrists. I'm a 10.
I say all of this, because last night I was humiliated in a way I never have been in my life. And it wasn't anyone's fault. No one was mean, no one laughed at me. AJ and I were asked to be part of a fashion show during GMA. We both thought it would be fun so we said yes, sure, we'll be models (all the while giggling about saying "yes, sure, we'll be models). Last night we went to the fitting at the store sponsoring the event. I walked in wearing size 10 jeans and a size M shirt from The Gap. I left feeling one burrito away from Lane Bryant. AJ and I shared a dressing room, while a guy brought us various things to try on. The first pair of jeans he brought me, I couldn't get past my knees. The second pair was worse. After the fifth pair (and one of the largest sizes the store carried), I started to cry in the dressing room (while wearing an L shirt that was so tight you could see my hair follicles). So I politely excused myself and ran out with Ryan in tow.
Then I cried all night.
I was humiliated and embarrassed. I felt like everyone was whispering, "what are we going to do about the fat girl in dressing room 1?" And maybe they weren't. Maybe they didn't realize what was going on. Maybe the guy who said to me, "don't worry, we'll find something that will fit you" didn't mean to make me feel like a side-show attraction.
And here's the truth. I am not fat. In fact, I am below average. Yes, I could stand to lose a few pounds and I could be in better shape. Yes, there are people out there (and close to me) who think I am fat. Yes, there are people out there (and close to me) who think I'm thin. Yes, in some stores I wear a 10, and in some stores I can't get a size 10 past my knees.
I'm not sure how to end this. I just wanted to write something that says - IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT SIZE YOU WEAR. I have friends who wear enviable sizes but are empty and hollow. I have friends who wear sizes larger than me, that are gorgeous and talented and amazing in every way. I guess I wish there wasn't a stigma to be thin. I wish I truly meant what I said when I wrote "there are more important things".
Sunday, March 20, 2005
The Beholder
I'm average. I don't view this as a negative, just truth. I'm not a great beauty. Not a show stopper. Strangers don't make a fuss or look embarrassed when I enter a room. In fact, entering a room is usually a non-event. And that's ok. I've come a long way to now understand and accept that I have my strengths. There are parts of me that are pretty. But overall - I'm average.
Ryan would disagree. He thinks I'm beautiful, sometimes even says that I'm gorgeous. Who, me? The first time he ever said it, I thought he was being mean. But he wasn't. He really thinks that I'm pretty - all the time. Really, all the time. And lately I've been so focused on him, that I've started to believe him. I've started to think that maybe I am pretty. Maybe I am sexy. Maybe I am "kind of a big deal". I haven't spent too much time, lately, looking for my imperfections in the mirror. Instead I've just been looking into the face of one who loves me, and listening to his voice tell that I'm beautiful and loved. And I'm convinced.
Tonight I was looking at some pictures of Ryan and I that were taken last night. Last night when Ryan thought I looked beautiful - and last night when I believed him. But tonight, looking at the pictures, I see that I'm average. I see my flaws. I see all the little things about my face that I don't like. The things about my body I wish I would change. And I wonder.
Maybe this is a small piece to the puzzle with God. Maybe to understand who I am and whose I am, I should listen to the One who loves me. The One who made my face and thinks it's beautiful. Maybe the more I look at Him and listen to Him - the more I will believe what He says to me. Maybe the longer I gaze at His face, the less time I'll have to gaze at my own.
Ryan would disagree. He thinks I'm beautiful, sometimes even says that I'm gorgeous. Who, me? The first time he ever said it, I thought he was being mean. But he wasn't. He really thinks that I'm pretty - all the time. Really, all the time. And lately I've been so focused on him, that I've started to believe him. I've started to think that maybe I am pretty. Maybe I am sexy. Maybe I am "kind of a big deal". I haven't spent too much time, lately, looking for my imperfections in the mirror. Instead I've just been looking into the face of one who loves me, and listening to his voice tell that I'm beautiful and loved. And I'm convinced.
Tonight I was looking at some pictures of Ryan and I that were taken last night. Last night when Ryan thought I looked beautiful - and last night when I believed him. But tonight, looking at the pictures, I see that I'm average. I see my flaws. I see all the little things about my face that I don't like. The things about my body I wish I would change. And I wonder.
Maybe this is a small piece to the puzzle with God. Maybe to understand who I am and whose I am, I should listen to the One who loves me. The One who made my face and thinks it's beautiful. Maybe the more I look at Him and listen to Him - the more I will believe what He says to me. Maybe the longer I gaze at His face, the less time I'll have to gaze at my own.
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